


Without My Mark

by Rifa



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Ballroom Dancing, Casual Sex, Complicated Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Lyrium Withdrawal, M/M, Mutual Pining, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, commitment issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-05-31 21:58:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15128666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rifa/pseuds/Rifa
Summary: Cullen finds himself in an unlikely entanglement with Dorian after weeks of petty arguments and aggressive flirtation. While Dorian seems comfortable with their rough and tumble of a casual encounter, Cullen is left wondering if there is anything more between them. Dorian, however, is quick to rebuff this idea, revealing a secret about his soul-mark that changes everything.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chaotically_Human](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaotically_Human/gifts).



> This fic was written for bh-chaotic and will be updated with at least one following chapter. This is set in a soulmate au where individuals are born with a 'soul-mark' that will match with their soulmate. While content in this fic is quite tame there are moments when Cullen gets a bit grabby/possessive and needs to correct himself. If you are sensitive to that sort of content please take care.

Cullen had made many ill-advised decisions in his life. He had done things he would later come to regret and held tight to his chest in guilt and shame. He had come to terms with much of his past, and come to a place in his life where he could feel pride when he put on his armor and unsheathed his sword. But he did not know what to think about Dorian.

 

Dorian was laying next to him, breath still heavy as sweat dewed on his perfectly tanned skin. Cullen pulled his blanket up and over his own bare body, the frigid wind from outside slipping through the shutters. The evidence of their activity still lingered, beads of it on Cullen’s thigh as he fought to catch his breath. He wanted to look over at Dorian and offer some sort of affection or companionship to the mage he had just-

 

How had this even happened? Cullen pinched between his eyes as his breath slowed and his mind slowly returned to him. Why Dorian? Of all people? The mage was beautiful, Cullen could not deny that, but they had been nothing but at odds with each other since the Inquisitor brought him in from the Redcliffe incident. Predictable, as most mages were not fond of Cullen or his history. Much less the spoiled son of a Tevinter Magister, strutting about like a peacock. 

 

So why had Dorian pursued him? Why had Cullen indulged him? Why had they-

 

“Well, you certainly know how to show a man a good time,” Dorian chuckled next to him. Cullen rolled to his side to gaze at him, the cocky little smile pitched under his only slightly mussed mustache. “And here I was hoping I would be opening your eyes to a whole new world, Commander.”

 

“You’re hardly my first,” Cullen smiled despite his thoughts and found himself wondering if it would be appropriate to caress that face. To turn the mage’s face to his and capture him in another deep kiss.

 

Dorian scoffed, “I do hope so, I refuse to believe a man that spends his days swinging a sword around has not at least gotten to try those skills in bed.”

 

“They have been little more than distractions,” Cullen shook his head before sitting up and resting his chin upon his hand. 

 

“As I suppose this will be,” Dorian looked at Cullen and shrugged his bare shoulders slightly. There was a sadness in his eyes under the glistening charm. “I doubt you usually consort with mages like this.”

 

Cullen choose not to answer, knowing his silence would betray the ghosts from his past. Instead, he gazed appreciatively up and down Dorian’s body. He was well built for a mage and his skin was the warm tone typical of Northern ‘Vints. Dorian preened under his eyes, soaking up the attention as he smirked softly.

 

“Why did you come here tonight?” Cullen asked. 

 

The spell broke and Dorian’s smile fell away, eyes veiling as he stared unblinkingly back at the ex-templar, “You know why.”

 

Their disagreements and petty head-butting had at some point turned to flirtation, even if Cullen was unsure where one started and the other ended. Dorian seemed to move fluidly between insult and flattery, his quick Tevinter tongue able to soothe and irritate seamlessly. Cullen felt played as a fiddle, bent to Dorian’s whims for arguments and begrudging affection. 

 

The tension had been rising over the weeks, Dorian had always seemed to find Cullen when he was alone, when he was in tight hallways or at the times the lyrium had rendered him weak and needy. Cullen had begun to suspect that Dorian was manipulating him with means other than his silver tongue and quick wit, but he forced the paranoia aside for his own sake. If Dorian had been at the circle he would have been thrown in solitary, if not worse, simply for how easily he seemed to snake around Cullen.

 

Not that Cullen minded. Or perhaps he did? He was still unsure. Intimacy was nice, long overdue if Cullen was being honest with himself. But he couldn’t shake the questions that floated in his mind.

 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Cullen frowned at Dorian.

 

Dorian rolled his eyes as his smirk returned to his lips, sitting up quickly and fetching his clothes from where they had fallen next to the bed. So soon? Cullen sat up, wanting to grab Dorian by the wrists and force him to stay. The thought curled up and withered in Cullen’s chest as he instead sat and watched Dorian rise from the bed and gather his elaborate robes in his arms.

 

“Dorian?” Cullen was confused, but did not have the words to spell out what he wanted. He did not know what he wanted. “Answer me.”

 

“There is nothing to discuss,” Dorian did not turn as he began to dress, slipping into his shirt. “Consider this another distraction among your many conquests.”

 

Cullen seethed at the disrespect, the spite that spat from Dorian’s lips, and yet he couldn’t help but feel as if he had done something wrong. How did Dorian always manage to do this? To turn his words inside out and twist them until they were sharp accusations he could not deny. But Cullen didn’t want Dorian to leave, he didn’t want the mage angry with him, he wanted… 

 

“I did not mean that, Dorian,” Cullen couldn’t stop himself from steeling his voice, watching as Dorian pulled up his trousers and fussed with the decorative snaps and buckles. “Please, I- I would prefer you to stay.”

 

Dorian turned slowly, eyes fixed on his robes as he righted them, “Would you? To what ends, Commander?” Dorian met Cullen’s eyes, his gaze icy. “You want company? Someone to warm your bedside for you? Or are you just anticipating wanting a midnight snack?”

 

“What?” Cullen threw his blanket up and stood, not caring that he was completely naked as Dorian stood fully dressed before him. “Why would you- What was your purpose in coming here at all if this is what you think of me?”

 

Dorian’s eyebrows raised as his smile increased, as if Cullen had said exactly what he had expected, “Let me keep it simple for you, Commander, this thing between us? It is a distraction. A little bit of fun amongst the doom and gloom of our lives. That is all. I don’t appreciate you trying to turn this into something it is clearly  _ not _ .”

 

Cullen felt as if he had been struck, as if Dorian had dealt him a blow that was uncalled for. But under his anger he could not find where his own expectations had fallen as Dorian had seduced him and pressed him into the stone wall at his back with a kiss. Cullen had his share of flings, was tossed aside by his superiors who had seen him as an easy conquest, and Cullen had done the same to those under him. Why would this have been different?

 

“How do you know?” Cullen countered, narrowing his eyes at Dorian before gesturing to his ridiculous robes. “You are so eager to hide yourself, to hide your soul-mark. Is that so you can have the upper hand? So you can tease and deceive men into thinking there might be something there?”

 

Dorian’s face fell, flushed as he struggled between hurt and anger, “‘ _ Deceive _ ’? Is that it? Well, thank you for being forthright, Commander. I’ll see myself out.”

 

Cullen grabbed Dorian’s wrist and wrested him back. The mage barely resisted him, simply stared in shock as if he had never been corrected by a templar which- Right. Cullen swallowed hard, releasing Dorian’s wrist, his own hands trembling at how easy he slipped back into old habits.

 

“I haven’t even seen your soul-mark, Dorian, you can’t blame me for wondering,” Cullen spoke slowly and deliberately. It was unusual for someone to hide their soul-mark, the Maker-given mark that would match them with their soul-mate. Cullen’s own was on his neck, vaguely resembling a lion’s profile, a mark he had never seen on another. 

 

“Yes, well, unlike you charming fellows here in the South I find it quite vulgar to display,” Dorian answered, arms crossing defensively. “And I’m not exactly looking, Commander. On the contrary, I am happy to just have my fun without that nonsense.”

 

Dorian did not look happy and Cullen was not ready to give up, “Show me, Dorian.”

 

Dorian barked out a nervous laugh, “Oh, of course, would you like a blood sample for a phylactery as well?”

 

Cullen opened his mouth to retort, heat rising into his face as the anger swelled inside of him, and instead snapped his mouth shut and rummaged for a pair of pants. He covered himself, seething further as he heard Dorian give a mocking little sigh of disappointment.

 

“I am not being unreasonable in my request,” Cullen turned back to Dorian, the heat still burning in his cheeks. “We just slept together, wanting to know where I stand with you is not unreasonable.”

 

“Was I not speaking Common earlier?” Dorian rolled his eyes, dropping his arms. “Or is this another one of my sneaky little Tevinter deceptions, Commander? You think we are secretly soul-mates and I’m hiding it from you?”

 

Dorian laughed hollowly and Cullen couldn’t help but feel disarmed. Dorian was right, it made no sense for him to hide a mark that would solidify them as soul-mates. What would he get out of denying himself a connection like that? But if that was the case…

 

“So there is nothing between us?” Cullen’s stomach dropped, an unexpected but undeniable disappointment curling inside of him. He thought back to every snide comment, every veiled compliment and upfront fliration. Dorian had come to him, found him working late and crept his hands under his tunic, lips lavishing up his throat and jaw. 

 

“Correct,” Dorian forced a smile, “Nothing but that pretty ex-templar cock of yours.”

 

Was there anything wrong with satisfying their lust for one another? Cullen couldn’t think of an argument, except for the weight in his chest he did not know how to handle.

 

Why did this feel like rejection? What more did Cullen want?

 

“But-” He stammered, silenced by the pointed look Dorian met him with.

 

“Please, don’t try and convince me you think there is something more here,” Dorian shook his head, the confident glint in his eyes dulled to resignation. “Seeing my mark is not going to change anything. The person it matches with is long gone, the Maker has a terrible sense of humor. And this, this is just a distraction.”

 

“You-”  _ Are more than that _ . Cullen couldn’t say it. Who was he to try and drag Dorian into something that was not destined? What would they do if they pursued this and another person appeared in Cullen’s life with a matching mark? How could he expect Dorian to be held onto just to be thrown aside?

 

“Yes, me,” Dorian smirked, but his eyes were distant. “You can have me again, but only if you understand that nothing else will ever come of us.”

 

Cullen didn’t feel the same way. He didn’t know how Dorian could be so stubborn and definite in his appraisal of their relationship, or lack thereof. But he wanted to see Dorian again, wanted to be close against him even if the mage thought there was nothing there but the sparks between their wanting bodies. 

 

“If that is what you want,” Cullen pulled his eyes away, unable to watch the darkness sliding around in Dorian’s usually brilliant eyes. “And I would appreciate it if… if you would…”

 

“Trust me, I can be discreet,” Dorian finished his thought, “If there is one thing I have beyond my outlandish good looks and stunning charm, it’s the ability to keep quiet about my more shameful conquests.”

 

Cullen winced and looked up to try and meet Dorian’s eyes, the mage was busying himself with a stray buckle he had missed on his arm. 

 

“Good night, Commander,” Dorian waved a dismissive hand in farewell, not even turning to look at Cullen as he did so. “Sweet dreams.”

 

And just like that Dorian was gone, slipped down the ladder from Cullen’s quarters and into his office. He listened as the tower’s door creaked open and slammed shut again. He sunk down to his bed, lying back as he squeezed his eyes closed and tried to understand what in the world had just happened between him and the Tevinter mage. 

 

His sheets still smelled of Dorian’s cologne, lingering among the scent of sweat and sex. Cullen couldn’t help but wonder how things would be between them if circumstances were different. What would Cullen have done to Dorian if he had been one of his charges at the circle? What would be different if Dorian wasn’t a mage, or if their marks matched? 

 

Even if the Marker had not chosen them for one another, it didn’t mean that Cullen couldn’t care for him, didn’t it? There was no law that said that Cullen couldn’t feel for Dorian, that he couldn’t at least try.

 

He wondered if Dorian had meant all the things he had said.

 

He wondered about who it was that Dorian’s mark had matched with. It did not seem fair that Dorian would need to suffer, that his chance at happiness had been stolen so soon.

 

Cullen closed his eyes and tried not to think about it. He needed to rest. He needed to put this behind him, there was nothing he could do to change Dorian’s mind and his attentions were sorely needed by the Inquisition.

 

Despite it all, Cullen couldn’t stop himself from dreaming of the mage and his stunning smile.

  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another installment of angst and hurt/comfort! There will most likely be another chapter, stay tuned!

Any sort of relationship or rapport that Cullen and Dorian had dissipated over the weeks following their argument. At first, Cullen was able to convince himself that the drop in contact was a result of his heavy workload with the Inquisition. There was a war going on and it wasn’t going to wait around for anyone, so neither did Cullen. 

 

Dorian appeared around Skyhold, of course. He attended briefings and meetings but noticeably held his tongue around Cullen. He didn’t spare a glance in the commander’s direction, even when he was speaking. Cullen supposed it was discretion, Dorian not wanting to warrant any suspicion or attention from anyone else, but Cullen began to miss his snarky quips and inappropriate comments.

 

While Dorian had suggested that they could possibly meet again, it seemed as if he was trying to keep himself scarce. He never allowed himself to be alone with Cullen, always leaving the room before Cullen so he couldn’t be cornered or spoken to in private. 

 

It was fair of him, Cullen thought, after how he had interrogated the mage and forced him to open up before he might have been ready. It wasn’t unusual for mages to avoid his presence anyways, but this had never bothered Cullen as much as it did now. 

 

It was for the best, wasn’t it? Dorian came and went from Skyhold with the Inquisitor, wrote his reports of Venatori activity, and continued to aid in research with the other mages. Cullen was busy as well. They did not need the distraction that they brought each other.

 

Even so, Cullen found Dorian’s impression impossible to scrub from his mind. It happened when he passed Dorian in the hall, turning to watch him as he strode away, remembering his back arched against Cullen’s bed. Cullen’s gaze lingering on Dorian’s lips after he finished speaking in meetings. Late at night when Cullen was desperately looking for a little release from the stress of the day, grasping himself and sweating as he remembered those smoldering eyes looking up at him as he…

 

The thoughts were a foolish distraction and nothing more. Cullen was sure from Dorian’s disinterest and avoidance that he was not interested in seeing him again. It was over, before it started, but Cullen could appreciate that. He only wished that Dorian would have cut the thread between them with an actual word, instead of the suggestion that they could see each other again.

 

Besides, there were other things that needed Cullen’s attention. He had enough problems without an errant mage confusing him. On top of the constant needs of the Inquisition, Cullen had begun to feel a new wave of withdrawal symptoms from the lack of lyrium. As was the case today, when he woke up in a cold sweat and shaking on the floor of his office, having no idea how he had gotten there. No one had seen him, mercifully, but upon gaining his feet his head felt as if it were about to split in two. As if an axe had been lodged into his skull, the weight of it pressing between his eyes and beating shocks of pain through his mind and down to his toes.

 

He already knew there was nothing the medics could do for him. Their potions for easing pain had done nothing in the past and their only recommendation had been for him to rest, which of course, was not an option. He had to soldier through the pain, the shivering need as his body demanded the sweet relief the lyrium could bring him. He couldn’t have anyone see him struggle, so he stood on weak legs and made his way to the chapel.

 

It was the early morning and the dim glow of the distant sunrise emitted from the peaks, bathing Skyhold’s yards in the softest of lights. No one except the night guards were out at this hour, milling about their posts impatiently for their shifts to end. They did not see their commander struggle to walk to the chapel, hands clawing against stone for support.

 

His legs gave out halfway there. Cullen stumbled on a step, his shaking legs dropping him to the floor of the stone hall he was passing through. His knee hit stone and he grunted in pain as he barely caught himself from slamming his head against the floor. His breath rattled, his arms quivering as he felt a million pins and needles prickle into his skin, leeching him. His fists curled against the thin rug beneath him, the invisible axe in his skull grinding, cracking bone, spilling and oozing memory and thought until they bled out onto the floor.

 

Why did he stop taking the lyrium? What did he do to deserve this divine punishment? He forced himself to look up, the stone walls melting around him, as he desperately tried to place where in time and space he was. He couldn’t be found like this by his charges, he couldn’t look weak to the mages in the tower, they would take advantage. They would hurt him again. They would-

 

“Commander?” A voice cut through the fog and Cullen tensed on the floor, pushing himself up and falling against the wall where he staggered. Hands were upon him, holding him, pulling him up. “It's a little early for you to be this drunk, commander, whatever would the Inquisitor say?”

 

Cullen met the man’s eyes, cloudy grey shining above a small fond smile. A mage. Cullen tensed, reaching for his sword and growled “Unhand me!”

 

The mage surrendered, his hands up as he took a step back. Where was Cullen’s sword? Why would he be patrolling the tower without- The tower? Cullen blinked against the needling fog, clearing his vision as Dorian rose an eyebrow in distaste. 

 

Dorian?

 

“A-Apologies-” Cullen stammered, dropping his hands as he remembered himself. He was faint, leaning against the wall for support as Skyhold rocked like a ship beneath him. Dorian watched him with equal measures of suspicion and confusion, “I- I forgot myself. Please forgive me, for a moment I thought…”

 

“Thought what?” Dorian asked, his hands still raised at the level of his eyes. “It really is true that you can’t teach an old templar new tricks, isn’t it?”

 

Cullen ran a hand over his sweat-coated face, “Sometimes I fear that is the case. What are you doing in the halls at this hour?”

 

Dorian snorted, smile widening as he dropped his hands, “I could ask you the same, commander. You look terrible.”

 

“It’s nothing,” Cullen tried to push himself off the wall, to steady himself, but found it impossible. If only the world would stop shaking under him. 

 

“Please,” Dorian scoffed, stepping forward, “You are a terrible liar. Now tell me what’s wrong, I won’t be able to forgive myself if you go off and wobble yourself off a wall, which seems likely given your current grudge with gravity.”

 

Cullen’s headache was thudding between his eyes, “I won’t.”

 

“If you won’t tell me I’ll be forced to just make assumptions,” Dorian smirked as he looked Cullen up and down. “Up at the crack of dawn, or rather- face-first in a hall at the crack of dawn. If I’m not told otherwise, I would suspect you have a drinking problem.”

 

Cullen wanted to chuckle, to wave Dorian’s concern off, but the aching in his skull halted all processes, “Almost the opposite,” He said without thinking, “It’s a private matter, nothing to concern yourself with.”

 

Dorian crossed his arms, his smile unwavering, “You know I can be discreet, and after our  _ last _ conversation I feel I am owed a secret of yours. Now that you know one of mine.”

 

Cullen blinked up at Dorian, watched the shadows shift in the grey of his eyes. Right. Cullen did owe him, “It’s the lyrium.”

 

“What about it?” Dorian asked.

 

“I stopped taking it,” Cullen’s mouth was dry, the words thick and tacky upon his tongue.

 

“Why would you do that?” Dorian’s voice dropped, his tone serious as the sadness in his eyes shifted to concern. It was sweet, almost, if Dorian hadn’t rebuffed Cullen already.

 

“Long story,” Cullen squeezed his eyes shut as a wave of pain rolled over his eyes, tripling his vision. “Nothing to be done for this, however, I can endure it. But if you are willing, I would appreciate a steady arm to help me to the chapel.”

 

Dorian took his arm immediately, pulling it over his shoulders as he wrapped his arm around Cullen’s back for support, “Whatever you do, do not fall,” Dorian instructed as he guided him through the first steps, “You are too heavy for me to catch you, I will just watch you hit the ground.”

 

“There’s no reason to be cruel,” Cullen smirked, endeared and warmed by the mage’s grasp around his shaking body. 

 

“Oh, I don’t need a reason, commander, I’m a ‘Vint remember?” Dorian chuckled as he led Cullen down the hall, “It’s just in my nature to kick a man while he’s down.”

 

Cullen breathed a laugh, the air rattling through his throat and thickening in his chest. The withdrawal was intense but he was thankful that of all the people to find him, it was Dorian. Just talking like this was nice, letting Cullen know that at the very least Dorian did not hate him. Perhaps they could rekindle the heat that had led to that one night, perhaps they wouldn’t, it didn’t matter.

 

It was still too early for any of the Sisters who tended to the chapel to be around. The gardens and small stone chapel were quiet and empty as the two men shuffled in. Dorian paused to glance around, as if thinking the same thing before he guided Cullen to one of the small prayer rooms, the stone facade of Andraste watching them.

 

“You know,” Dorian started as he gently let Cullen down to the prayer bench. “I can probably do something to ease whatever pain you are in right now.”

 

“I appreciate the sentiment but using magic would…” Cullen sighed, reaching for words out of his grasp. “It would not be appropriate, and I find this method to be fulfilling on its own.”

 

“The method of floundering around like a fish until someone carries you to the chapel?” Dorian sat beside Cullen, legs crossed as he produced a candle and snapped his fingers over it. The wick lit with a spark of magic before Dorian placed it near Andraste’s feet. “Indeed, much more effective than modern medicine.”

 

“It clears my mind,” Cullen explained as he stared at the flickering candle Dorian had placed, narrowing his eyes as he looked back at the mage. “You don’t need to stay, you know.”

 

“I am aware,” Dorian blinked as he watched the candle burn, something shifting in his expression as Cullen watched him.

 

“Are you not leaving Skyhold later today?” Cullen asked, the details and schedules filled in his mind slowly unblurring. “What are you doing up so early? I suspected you would want your rest before travelling.”

 

Dorian shrugged a shoulder, “Today is… a notable day, even if I do not enjoy its passing. I thought it would be good to come here.”

 

Dorian dropped the topic like a stone in a pool, ripples breaking out through the air, against Cullen as he looked back at the candle.

 

“Who is the candle for?” Cullen asked, realization drawing upon him.

 

Dorian smiled sadly and Cullen knew.

 

“It’s been four years, as of today,” Dorian answered quietly. “His mark was here, behind his ear,” Dorian tapped behind his own ear, “It was a lotus, well, if you looked closely. Otherwise it was just a garish blob with spikes. He had a terrible sense of humor but somehow always managed to get a chuckle out of me. His hair was quite long, styled to hide his mark, you see.”

 

“It matched yours,” Cullen watched the flame upon the candle shudder from their words. 

 

“It did,” Dorian straightened as he pulled up one of his sleeves, rolling the understated silk to reveal the a spot near his elbow. A scar dashed across his otherwise perfect skin, the healed flesh a hue one lighter than his own. “My father rid me of it. It was quite the production, there are simple and more… painless ways to eradicate a soul mark. And then he rid the world of Rilienus.”

 

Cullen stared down at his hands, clasped and gripping upon his bent knees. His heart ached at the the finality of Dorian’s tone, the helpless slip into grief. Guilt washed about inside of Cullen, knowing how common that story was in the circle. How he had been witness and accessory to separating mages who had, against all odds, found their soulmate within the circle’s walls. How often had lovers been torn from each other, made tranquil to deprive them of love? How many had died?

 

He bowed his head and prayed to Andraste to forgive him for his part.

 

“I am sorry for your loss,” Cullen said after a pause. “You did not deserve to be treated with such cruelty.”

 

Dorian breathed a ghost of a laugh, “Indeed. But that is my father’s way. Did you know that he tried to repair our relationship? As if I would be willing to forget everything he took from me, and everything he would endeavor to take still.”

 

“I did not,” Cullen looked up at Dorian who was smiling tightly upon the memory.

 

“The Inquisitor thought I might benefit,” Dorian rolled his eyes, “It’s not her fault, she didn’t know, but… To be reminded so close to the anniversary of that day. It’s just another reminder of why I’m shivering out here in the South and not-”

 

Dorian cut himself off, feigning a cough into his fist as his hand trembled. 

 

“Dorian…” Cullen turned, his mind clear and focusing on the suffering man in front of him. “I know it may be of little comfort but you have a place here with the Inquisition, with us. I cannot speak for everyone but I am personally thankful that you appeared when you did, that you have been here to aid our cause.”

 

Dorian turned to Cullen as he spoke, his head tilting, looking as if he were waiting for something. His eyes were glassy, a sheen of held tears within them. And he was staring. Cullen’s heart was ramming against his chest.

 

_ I am here for you _ , Cullen wanted to say,  _ I am so thankful that I met you _ .

 

“If I had known-” Cullen said instead, “I might have acted differently, I might not have…”

 

“Commander,” Dorian’s lip quirked into an almost-smile. “What are you saying?”

 

“I would have been more considerate, I would have been gentler,” They weren’t quite the right words, how does one tell another that they would have held them closer, that they would have kissed every inch of skin in an attempt to heal what had been done to them?

 

“I never wanted ‘gentle’,” Dorian smirked, nudging up to his knees, closer to Cullen. “I didn’t tell you my depressing history to be taken pity on.”

 

Cullen swallowed his heartbeat as Dorian’s knees touched his own, “I don’t understand-”

 

Dorian held Cullen’s face and kissed him deeply. Cullen was swimming in the sea of Dorian’s grief, his cologne thick in the air, melting into the brash act of unexpected affection.

 

As suddenly as it happened, it stopped. Dorian smiled at Cullen, his hands clasping his cheeks fondly as Cullen heard the unmistakable sound of a woman clearing her voice.

 

They both turned to see one of the sisters in the open door, staring at both of them with wide eyes. Embarrassment poured cold down Cullen’s back as Dorian chuckled and jumped to his feet.

 

“Really, commander,” Dorian teased as he turned back to wink at Cullen, “The chapel is no place for canoodling, you should know that.” 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

  
  
  
  
  


The Winter Palace reminded Dorian of home.

 

The Palace itself was expansive, lavish and gleaming with every luxury the Orlesian Empire could afford. And it could afford a _ lot _ . Indeed, Dorian had heard the complaints from his fellows back in Tevinter about the state of the Imperium in direct relation to the prosperity that Orlais had accumulated, but it was different seeing it with his own eyes. While he had attended soirees in Minrathous with the same menu of finery and displays of wealth, he was sure that Empress Celene was not dangerously in debt from the effort.

 

It was like home in other ways too. The finely dressed and masked nobles showing every bit of displeasure they could at his appearance short of hissing at him and throwing their wine in his face. The music swelled, the workings of the great ‘game’ evident in every inclined head and extended hand as the nobles whisked each other off to the dance floor. The slaves- wait no, the servants (although there didn’t seem to be much of a distinction) where giving each other pointed looks when they met in the corners of the halls before retrieving more bottles of the splendid Orlesian cabernet sauvignon they had been pouring.

 

Dorian swirled the wine in his glass, wondering how long the night would last before someone was poisoned. He smiled to himself as he wondered what the odds were that it would be him.

 

Of course, there was all that assassination business the Inquisitor was bothered about, Dorian had listened to Josephine lecture and instruct her over and over in the carriage on the way here. He had made a few suggestions before the Antivan had shot him a look and banned him from ‘helping’. All good fun. Until any fighting broke out, all Dorian had to do was keep to himself, offend as few people as possible with his presence, and drink every drop of wine he could wrestle from the servants.

 

Dorian had taken himself to one of the small court gardens, despite the distinct chill in the air, so as to remove himself from the bustling array of silken piranhas. But where he was situated he was able to people watch through the large windows, his eyes darting to each red-jacketed Inquisition member as they attempted to weave through the traps and teeth waiting for them inside. 

 

As expected, Vivienne and Leliana seemed right at home. Even a few of his peers he had expected to struggle seemed to tread water, the qunari brute appeared only out of place by his size and large rack and the Inquisitor seemed to have taken to Josephine's instruction well.

 

But then there was Dorian’s beloved Commander. 

 

Cullen’s face had been almost as red as his uniform for the better part of an hour. He was floundering in the unrelenting attentions of what Dorian could tell were wealthy and marriable young noble women. The women smiled as they tittered and touched Cullen’s arm at every opportunity, quite forward Dorian had to admit. The commander pulled away each time, hands up in gentle surrender, using every nicety in his book to attempt to disinterest them. Cullen was foolish, rudimentary and unrefined in every way the Orlesian women around him were not. 

 

Dorian watched with a tight smile as Cullen adjusted his jacket’s collar every few moments, anxious to cover his mark. Why did he care? He would be so lucky to have a wealthy noble heiress match the ugly roaring lion on his neck. The commander could retire from the Inquisition and move to a countryside villa, father some little masked children that he could teach to fight with little wooden swords. The Commander of the Inquisition, married into nobility and buried with a matching headstone to some preening tacky Orlesian-

 

Dorian started as his wine glass cracked. The wine was bubbling, boiling hot and Dorian groaned openly as he set the glass aside. He had to get a hold of himself, no use embarrassing himself over the mere  _ distraction _ he had found in the handsome commander.

 

The servants were conveniently absent in the garden, leaving Dorian to fend for himself and trudge to the punch bowl that was set up dangerously close to a shedding jasmine vine. The nobles drifted away from the table as Dorian approached, one of the masked men sneering at Dorian as he led his partner away. Dorian rolled his eyes as he got himself a new glass and sipped from it. 

 

“Dorian?” 

 

Dorian frowned at his spicy punch, the voice behind him unfamiliar. He turned with a smile, expecting an Inquisition ally, or perhaps an Orlesian that had come to question him about the Inquisitor  _ again _ .

 

His face fell. He had not expected there to be another  _ Tevinter _ at the ball.

 

“I thought that was you,” The man smiled as he gave a small bow, the expression dangerous. It was clear from his manner, age, and dress that he was well-established and well respected (if only by himself). “I had heard the rumors that Pavus’ only son had run off to join the Inquisition. Not a particular high point for House Pavus, is it? What was it that enticed you to turn your back on the Imperium?”

 

Dorian recognized the man but could not place him. “I am terribly sorry, but I can’t seem to recall  _ your _ name. And here I thought I knew the names of all the Magisters back home.”

 

The man narrowed his eyes but his smile stayed firmly in place, “Amuilius, I have been the appointed Tevinter Ambassador to Orlais for the past ten years now, Pavus.”

 

Dorian should have expected this, or for someone similar to throw their cloak off dramatically at the Winter Palace. It was just a shame that this Amuilius seemed to have lost his Tevinter sense for theatrics. 

 

“Whatever did you do to be ousted from our homeland in such fashion?” Dorian smirked, “They couldn’t wait to get rid of you, could they dear Amuilius? Now if you’ll excuse me, one of the most powerful leaders in Thedas is calling me by name. Perhaps you will understand,  one day.”

 

It wasn't his best conversational parry, but there was nothing to be done about that. Dorian was out of practise and caught off-guard, he couldn’t be blamed for that. And after the ambush his father had laid out for him in Redcliffe, he wanted to be as far away from anyone who called him  _ Pavus _ .

 

Dorian was almost to the archway that would take him back inside when Amuilius called after him, “At least I left out of  _ choice _ , Pavus. I never disgraced my house with my sexual pursuits.”

 

Dorian walked faster. 

 

The noise of the party broke over Dorian like a wave. Music, muddled conversations and laughter were thick in his ears as he scanned the crowds for someone, anyone. It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle himself, quite the contrary, but he was not interested in making it  _ easy _ for this bottom feeder to pull a reaction from him. He only needed one ally, one person on his side to back him up in case things got ugly, or to shame the ambassador into resigned politeness. 

The Inquisitor would be his first pick, but she was nowhere to be seen. Leliana or Bull would do, intimidate with blunt political standing or blunt weaponry. But they were almost absent from view, there were others around somewhere, he just had to find someone.

 

And then he turned and found Cullen, attempting to rebuff a pushy masked woman in a gown four times her size, and his heart leapt.

 

“Come, Commander, let us dance,” The woman’s Orlesian accent dripped thickly across each word, “Tell me of all the demons you have slain as you hold me close!”

 

“I’m sorry, madame, I simply-” Cullen was trying to gently pull his gloved hand from her clutches, cheeks flushed and sweat dewing across his forehead.

 

The adorable fool.

 

“Excuse my interruption,” Dorian slid between them, eyes locking with Cullen’s as he grabbed his forearm and took possession of his hand. “But I believe the commander owes me a dance.”

 

Dorian pulled Cullen to the marble dance floor, revelling in the shock that reddened up the commander’s face even more. He pulled Cullen close, arranging himself to with one hand upon his shoulder as he held his other hand aloft, ready to be led.

 

“Don’t let me down, Commander,” Dorian smiled, his heart aching at how badly he wanted this to be real and not just an elaborate distraction for them both. 

 

Cullen met Dorian’s eyes, lashes fluttering nervously as he swallowed down hard and began to lead him in the dance. The dance was simple enough, a three-step waltz not unlike the ones Dorian was forced to practise in his youth in the circle. He wondered where Cullen had learned the steps, how he knew how to clutch Dorian’s waist and lead him effortlessly. Did the Templar order have balls? Seemed unlikely.

 

“I hope you’re prepared, Commander,” Dorian smirked as Cullen led him in time with the other dancers whose eyes darted to them from under their masked facades.

 

“For what?” Cullen looked alarmed at the comment, as if Dorian had perhaps spotted a hooded man with a gleaming dagger in the crowd. 

 

“For the talk,” Dorian laughed in spite of himself, “The Commander of the Inquisition dancing in broad daylight with an evil Tevinter magister? Such a scandal, Josephine will be fielding petitions for our removal for weeks.”

 

Cullen smiled and Dorian’s own faltered in response. Cullen’s expressions were always so bittersweet, as if it ached him to feel an ounce of happiness. As if each step in the dance caused him pain, but he wouldn’t stop unless Dorian asked him to. Perhaps it was true, Dorian had seen the effects his withdrawal was having on him.

 

“I should be thanking you,” Cullen’s eyes darted away, sheepish smile still in place. “Otherwise I would be at the mercy of one of those insufferable noblewomen on the dance floor.”

 

“Instead you are at  _ my _ mercy,” Dorian smirked, tightening his hold on Cullen’s hand. “Some might say you have made the more dangerous choice.”

 

“I would disagree with them,” Cullen looked back at Dorian before dipping him, the gesture elegant and effortless. Cullen moved Dorian as if he weighed no more than a feather. He had to restrain himself from gasping as the commander lifted him back to his feet, pulling him closer than before.

 

“Well,” Dorian’s gaze flicked out to the crowd, scanning for Amuilius. He spotted the man sulking in the shadows of a carved pillar, watching. Dorian snapped his attention back to Cullen. “If you asked for my opinion I would tell you that betrothal to a wealthy Orlesian noble is far from your worst option. You cannot expect the Inquisition to care for you when you’re an old withered templar.”

 

Cullen frowned by a degree, reading Dorian’s eyes before he darted them away again. Amuilius rose a glass as Dorian spotted him.

 

“What is it?” Cullen’s voice was lowered.

 

“Nothing,” Dorian smiled briskly at him and shook his head, “Nothing of concern.”

 

Cullen was not convinced. And worse, the music stopped. Cullen pulled away from Dorian and gave him a small bow, as all the other partners did now that the dance was complete. Dorian froze as his eyes darted from Cullen to Amuilius in the crowd, much too close for comfort. The man’s snide smile lighting even more anxiety within Dorian’s fluttering heart. 

 

Dorian had gotten wrapped up in the dance and had not even begun to calculate a plan. Now his chance was gone.

 

“Another dance?” He blurted, a little too loudly.

 

Cullen made a pained expression, “I would prefer some air.”

 

Dorian had no other option, “I shall accompany you then.”

 

Cullen seemed pleased with that. Well, of course he was, why wouldn’t he be? Dorian had a mind to take him by the arm, if only to dissuade the courtiers from Cullen and show his unfriendly Tevinter acquaintance a little what for. But he didn’t. He crossed his arms stubbornly and followed Cullen to the little courtyard he had been loitering in earlier, giving a pinched smile to the gaggle of women that watched Cullen pass them by.

 

The cool air was a welcome reprieve after the heat and anxiety that crept on Dorian inside the ball proper. Cullen seemed to agree, fanning his face with a gloved hand as he gave Dorian a slight, sad smile.

 

“What was all that about?” He asked and Dorian hated how much concern and care the man could fit into his words.

 

“Can’t a man be overcome with the desire to be manhandled on a dance floor?” Dorian smiled, unable to make it seem genuine by even a single degree. He was allowing himself to get affected too easily. Why had Amuilius shaken him so deeply? 

 

“You didn’t have to attend if you didn’t want to,” Cullen’s eyebrows pitched in concern as he leaned against one of the planters in the yard. “I wouldn’t be surprised if this environment was overwhelming for you.”

 

Dorian scoffed, his anxiety heating into something spiked and rotten inside of him rather quickly. “You’re a fool if you think I can’t handle this. This party doesn’t even have a demon casting circle, Commander, it is rather dull. If we were in Tevinter, someone would start planning a murder just to liven up the soiree.”

 

That made Cullen uncomfortable, and yet there wasn’t much satisfaction in it. 

 

“I know this isn’t the time nor place to discuss it but…” Cullen averted his eyes. Dorian crossed his arms tighter, unable to stop himself from thinking of how lovely Cullen looked without the ratty battle-worn clothes he insisted on wearing. “What is the purpose of prolonging this… flirtation?”

 

Dorian closed his eyes as he embraced the hit Cullen’s words struck against him. He sighed loudly, of course the commander had to bring  _ this _ up.

 

“Indeed, not the ideal place nor time,” Dorian gritted through his teeth, he looked over his shoulder as he was acutely aware of the yawning doorway behind him. He knew it was only a matter of time before Amuilius returned to circle him like a vulture. He hoped that Cullen’s presence had dissuaded him at least. 

 

“You’re distracted,” Cullen observed.

 

Dorian rose his eyebrows and blinked at Cullen, “Plainly. Have you no idea what you look like in a proper uniform? No wonder you drove the women in there to such pitiful displays. Like tittering schoolgirls. I can’t even blame them.”

 

Cullen frowned and crossed his arms. If it was an attempt to stop Dorian from ogling him he was extremely mistaken, the pose simply highlighted how tight the jacket was in the arms and his chest.

 

“It’s your duty as part of the Inquisition to report any troubling activity at the Winter Palace to me,” Cullen put on his authority voice as he stood.

 

“Ah, yes, I do like when you pull rank. You are well aware of that,” Dorian winked, knowing he was flirting with fire and frankly not caring. Why should he care? He wasn’t going to  _ tell _ Cullen that he was possibly being stalked by an ambassador who was keen to strip him of dignity and parade around his sullied past like some hunting trophy. “Nothing nefarious to report, except that the duck pate was severely over-seasoned, you couldn’t taste the duck at all.”

 

Cullen didn’t relent for a good long moment, as if he could break Dorian with nothing more than a stern stare down. Finally, he sighed and dropped his arms, “As you say, but I trust that you would tell me if there is something amiss.”

 

“Of course, Commander,” Dorian shrugged with an open hand. He opened his mouth to add another quip when he caught sight of Amuilius across the garden, looking towards them with a practiced casualty. Oh Maker. How long had he been there? What had he heard? 

 

“Ah, there you are, Pavus,” Amuilius bowed out from the conversation he had been hovering in to stride across the garden to him, snide grin stretching on each step as he turned to Cullen. “You must be the esteemed Commander of the Inquisition, Ser Cullen.”

 

Amuilius moved past Dorian and gave Cullen a firm handshake. Dorian’s throat tightened, caught someplace between fear and offense at this weasel thinking he could worm his way up to Cullen of all people. What was he hoping to get out of this? Whatever it was, Dorian knew it would not end well for him. It never did.

 

“Yes, and you would be…?” Cullen did everything except stammer as Amuilius dropped his hand, it was clear that Cullen thought himself to be presenting as someone in control and formidable, but by Tevinter standards…. Suffice to say Cullen would be eaten alive at any social gathering in Minrathous. 

 

“Amuilius, Tevinter Ambassador,” Amuilius inclined his head, his eyes darting at Dorian for a split moment before returning his attention to Cullen. “I see the Inquisition has seen fit to take young Pavus in, how very charitable.”

 

Dorian smiled, so it was going to be like, was it? Unfortunate that Cullen was in the crossfire, the poor man was out of his depth. But at least there was little Amuilius could say that would expose Dorian anymore than he had done to himself.

 

“Do you have any actual business with the commander or are you just looking to make small talk, Amuilius?” Dorian cut in as Cullen frowned slowly and crossed his arms. “Now, Amuilius, the Commander and I were having a  _ private _ conversation if you don’t mind excusing us…”

 

Cullen held a hand aloft to quiet Dorian, who bristled immediately.

 

“Dorian is a powerful and talented mage,” Cullen answered, his voice stern but soft. “The Inquisition is lucky to have such an esteemed member.”

 

Dorian restrained himself from groaning out loud, despite the embarrassing way his heart fluttered at Cullen’s description of him. It was a wonder that Cullen still thought so highly of him after Dorian had been so careful to shatter his heart into as many pieces as possible. Even so, there was no way any of that would deter this Tevinter snake, if he truly wanted to threaten Dorian’s position.

 

“By southern standards, of course,” Amuilius seemed almost giddy, “I was well-acquainted with his father, there’s no question about the boy’s magical prowess. I just fear that the Inquisition would align itself with someone so... “

 

“Handsome? Talented? Enthralling?” Dorian barred his teeth in a tight grin, “Go on, I want to hear it.”

 

“Dorian…” Cullen said warningly and Dorian put up a hand to silence him. See how he would take to  _ that _ .

 

Amuilius rose his eyebrows looking between Dorian and Cullen while theatrically connecting the dots between them, “Oh dear, it seems the promiscuous tart has taken another victim. Ser Cullen, I would watch yourself, this one is not easily satisfied…”

 

“Enough,” Dorian broke into a hysterical laugh before he was able to strangle it within his own throat, “Really, Amuilius, you’re embarrassing yourself-”

 

“At least a commander is a step up for you,” Amuilius tilted his head at Dorian, eyebrows up in mock sympathy. “But I suppose now that you’re no longer mark-bound to a slave, you can attempt to move up in the world, hmm?”

 

Amuilius might as well have punched Dorian in the stomach, it would have hurt just as much. He didn’t think that, it couldn’t be- It couldn’t be  _ common knowledge, _ could it? No one had anything to say when Dorian returned to the public eye after weeks of licking his wounds, both of the heart and the violent erasure of his mark. No one had said  _ anything _ . 

 

Rage rose up to cover the hurt, hot and bubbling under the surface as Dorian glared daggers back at the smug demon. Anger so thick, he couldn’t discern the difference between it and the swirling magic that surged in response. Heat jumped into his fingertips, threatening to burn, “You’ve said quite enough, haven’t you? Nothing left for you to feed on but the tragedy of a pariah?”

 

Amuilius must have sensed the fade wrinkling about Dorian, a distinct glow filling his hands as he dared  _ laugh _ , “At least I haven’t besmirched a once  _ proud  _ name, Pavus-”

 

Cullen’s hand was at his throat. Amuilius gagged as the magic fell from his hands, instead clamping on Cullen’s arm. Dorian blinked and his flame went out. 

 

Cullen was pushing Amuilius back, his eyes intense as he gritted his teeth and hissed, “You will  _ not _ raise a hand or use magic against a member of the Inquisition. Not here. Not in my presence.  _ Never _ .”

 

Amuilius rose his hands in surrender and Cullen dropped his grip from his throat. Amuilius coughed and shook his head, “Apologies, Ser Cullen, you are mistaken.”

 

“You will not speak ill of Dorian either,” Cullen snapped, finger pointing in the mage’s face. “Not in my presence, not unless you want your life cut short.”

 

Dorian turned and left.

 

The wind was at his back, sending a shiver down his spine as he strode past curious courtiers who stared openly at him before looking back at Cullen and Amuilius. Dorian shivered, suddenly feeling as if he were made of paper. Curling under the weight, weak in the slight breeze as he found an unoccupied corner to sulk in.

 

Cullen didn’t need to do that. Dorian had it under control. There wouldn’t have even been a fight. It was all some good old fashioned Tevinter ribbing, child’s play really. Cullen had disarmed Dorian, gotten involved when it had  _ nothing _ to do with him. Dorian could defend himself. He wasn’t a helpless waif, far from it! Cullen was nothing more than an idiot.

 

Dorian buried his face in his hands.

 

Footsteps, Dorian looked up to see Cullen looking down at him as if he were a small bird with a broken wing.

 

“Are you alright?” Cullen asked, like an idiot. 

 

“I’m wonderful,” Dorian smiled benignly “Charming fellow, wasn’t he?”

 

“I’m sorry, he said some terrible things…” Cullen trailed off, seemingly confused by Dorian’s wide grin. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

  
“Oh, I’m grand,” Dorian forced a laugh as he stood, “Positively giddy! I got to be rescued by a knight in shining armor, galloping up upon his white horse to slay the evil Tevinter ambassador. Maker forbid I be given the grounds to defend  _ myself _ .”

 

Cullen looked as if he had been slapped, confused and attacked all at once, “Did you expect me to  _ allow _ that?”

 

“Oh! Ohohoho, did I need your  _ permission _ ?” Dorian slapped his knee as he laughed, “Big strong ex-templar ready to pry the duelling mages apart I see, shall I beg your permission next time I wish to speak on my own behalf? Or shall I expect you to speak for me?”

 

“What?” Cullen’s face was twisted into a painful expression akin to a dog attempting to follow human speech, “I meant  _ him _ , Dorian, I couldn’t allow  _ him _ to speak to you like that!”

 

Dorian closed his mouth, wavering on his feet as his anger escaped him, “Ah.”

 

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck as he sighed, sneaking a soft glance up at Dorian, “I thought I was helping.”

 

Dorian smiled, “You weren’t.”

 

“Understood,” Cullen nodded, “But if that’s the case, why did you seek me out?”

 

Dorian chuckled, the embarrassment and anger that had filled him leaking out one drop at a time. Painful, but at least he had this great oaf to soften each blow. “Excuse me, Commander I believe that is what you call a  _ rescue _ .”

 

Cullen breathed a laugh, a blush blossoming on his cheeks. Lovely.

 

“Was he talking about  Renilius?” Cullen asked quietly. 

 

Dorian sighed and stared up at the jasmine trailing the arbor above their heads, “Yes, he was.”

 

“So he was a slave?” Cullen asked as Dorian studied the small white flowers above them. “Is that why your father was able to have him killed so easily?”

 

“It wouldn’t have mattered, but, yes,” Dorian shrugged before meeting Cullen’s eyes again, “I would rather not talk about it, not when there is fine wine to be drunk and an assassination plot to thwart, don’t you agree Commander?”

 

Cullen did not smile as he nodded his assent, but a spark in his eyes told Dorian what he already knew. He wasn’t going to be able to shake the commander as easily he had hoped.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Don't forget to follow my dragon age tumblr for additional writing and info on requests!](http://glowlyelfboyfriend.tumblr.com/)


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